


What happens in the shadows

by withered



Series: House of Mine [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF Stiles, Grumpy Derek, M/M, Monster of the Week, Pre-Relationship, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 20:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19962691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: When normal people find out about monsters, they don't usually become overnight experts on the occult. In the least surprising plot twist in the history of ever, there's nothing "usual" about Stiles.





	What happens in the shadows

“Oh, oh _you fuck._ ”

“That’s rude,” Stiles declares, face annoyed beneath a splatter of blood. “I just saved your life.”

Derek’s eyebrows do the Thing, as Stiles has taken to recognizing it, where they’re conveying the threat of murder by doing nothing more than existing on his face in all their overly prominent glory which honestly isn’t difficult given how they’re the most defining feature on Derek’s face.

Not that his freaky fanfiction green eyes aren’t enough of a draw, but those don’t have the power to casually hint homicide without the help of the eyebrows ergo –

“I needed it alive.”

He huffs. “Well, it wanted you dead so -”

“Now I have to find another one,” and then Derek’s turning away like _he’s actually going to do that_ and that’s just –

“Stop right there, Big Guy, you aren’t _seriously_ telling me that you’re gonna go off and – Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Pointedly, Derek doesn’t reply, and that’s seriously so rude, wow. “You’re a jerk,” Stiles yells at his back. “Also, you’re welcome for saving your life, by the way!”

At that, Derek deigns to grunt in reply which Stiles is going to just take as both an acknowledgment and begrudging thanks in lieu of anything else. He’s come to accept that the guy isn’t much of a talker which is just as well given how much of an asshole he is.

With another huff, Stiles looks down at the Aswang with a mixture of bemusement and disgust.

Bemusement because of all the vampire variants in the world, he can see why popular western culture didn’t adopt it because _holy shit, you ugly_ ; even disregarding the bloodless white eyes and the shark-like rows of teeth, which is saying a lot. Hell, even when its head was still attached to its neck, the Aswang was still terrifyingly hideous.

Kind of the point, Stiles supposes, it is an actual monster and all.

He raises his arm to wipe the blood off his cheek with his sleeve, along with the sweat that had gathered at his neck from the work out he’d gotten running for his life.

Sure, he’d managed to salt and burn the lower half of its body just before it could reattach which was probably a fair reason, in hindsight, for the creature to go ape shit, but swinging around a machete was not as easy as it looked.

Luckily Derek had managed to distract it just long enough for Stiles to go medieval France all up in its –

“Wait, _you asshole, you were using me as bait!”_

And though Derek’s already gone, Stiles knows the fucker heard him because less than three hours later, at exactly ten to seven, Derek’s standing across from him at the coffee shop exuding the closest approximation to contrite his emotionally constipated face can manage.

Right until he says, “You were following me,” like that’s an explanation, but sounds like an accusation in a likely attempt to absolve himself of guilt for almost turning Stiles into Aswang chow.

And Aswangs don’t even like dudes! Which – he knows – isn’t the point – the point is –

“I was not -” Derek looks blatantly unimpressed, and Stiles scrambles to defend himself, “Alright fine, I was – but you can’t -”

“Don’t,” he cuts off, sharp and angry, eyebrows furrowing to match. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I think I handled myself just fine,” he sniffs.

He might not have the bod of a gladiator, but don’t let the hipster glasses fool you, Stiles isn’t above playing dirty. Speaking of, “Thanks for helping me bury the body, by the way.”

It was easier with the Aswang in pieces but grave digging is a lot of fucking work, okay?

A teenage girl waiting for her drink by the counter bodily pauses and looks up from her phone with excruciating slowness and – oh, right – probably not the best place to be bringing up _that_ particular activity. Face reddening, Stiles tries to look as harmless as possible even as he glares at the man in front of him. “I hate when you come here,” he whisper-hisses, “you always make me sound like a serial killer.”

“Then stop getting in my business,” Derek returns managing to look both smug and angry.

Stiles squints at him. “You trying to say something about yourself?”

He rolls his eyes before turning away, takeaway cup in hand and change rattling in the tip jar next to the cash register.

The shop is busy enough that not even Derek’s shoulders can get him through the crowd with the swiftness he usually employs which Stiles is only marginally thankful for given that for all of Derek’s douchebaggery, he’s got an ass tight enough to flick quarters off, and he knows its rude to check people out so blatantly but he figures he’s earned this.

_Aswang chow – you almost turned me into Aswang chow, Derek!_

To clarify, Stiles isn’t some creep who stalks every person he meets after serving them coffee.

He only does it with people he finds interesting – which – okay, fine – interesting is a broad term and doesn’t really help his case, but Stiles’ always had a goldfish attention span; anything holding onto it for longer than the cursory five seconds is interesting by default.

Not to mention that ‘interesting’ is probably the nicest way to describe how he first meets Derek No-Last-Name.

Rewind to a month ago: Halloween.

It isn’t really a big thing, especially not in a small a town as Beacon Hills.

Though that doesn’t stop people from taking advantage of Halloween being a thing, and much like Derek’s murderous eyebrows, it is very much a Thing.

Practically every other business near _The Bean_ has something Halloween related going on (even if it’s something as lame as a sale on hats). Not even the late-night radio station he usually listens to at the Ass O’ Clock opening shift is spared, hosting a Halloween block party while Stiles starts the brews and watches the bread rise in the oven.

Isaac had the bright idea of running the shop from two instead of four in a bid to catch some of the lingering crowds ‘haunting’ the streets of the shopping district in the hopes of cashing in as much as possible on the festivities.

As a result, Stiles had been strong-armed into staying later than usual to set up the ‘spooky’ decorations on top of being charged with the making and baking of various pumpkin pastries which – seriously, who even likes pumpkin anyway? – Either way, Isaac had bought themed stencils for the foam art and that was that – _The Bean_ was officially a Halloween spot.

Right until Derek was thrown through the window.

That wasn’t even the crazy part.

No, that honor went to the Thing that threw him into the window in the first place.

Stiles hadn’t known what it was, still didn’t if he’s being honest; a knock-off Hulk meets Venom get-up?

Whatever, it was clearly _pissed_ , and the hot guy that usually came by for his takeaway order of cliché black coffee had _claws_.

For a fleeting second, Stiles thought it was a LARPing event gone wrong – or more likely, a bunch of assholes hopped up on LSD while at a costume party – but no, the poor man’s Venom Hulk started drooling something corrosive enough to burn a hole through a table before flinging it into the wall as he advanced towards Hot Guy with Claws.

Having only one exit in the store was suddenly an awful thing to remember.

And from the way Isaac had started crying, it was something he’d be rectifying as soon as they knew they weren’t going to die.

Which – flash forward to the present – was a fate they had thankfully avoided, thanks to the baseball bat Isaac kept under the counter in lieu of a shotgun.

The collateral damage had been substantial to say the least but blamed pretty easily on a drunk driver that supposedly plowed into the shop which, the security recording the day of, confirmed.

Isaac was too thankful to be both alive and have insurance cover the damage that he hadn’t questioned it, and had done an excellent job of pretending his sanity was still intact. Something Stiles couldn’t say for himself.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know there was such a thing as monsters; he was just used to the human kind.

Regardless, less than a week later found Stiles stalking Hot Guy with Claws, actual name Derek No-Last-Name.

Because while _Derek_ somehow managed to convince the video footage to show something that didn’t happen, he couldn’t Men-In-Black Stiles into believing he hadn’t just gotten front row seats to a Wolverine versus Venom Hulk throwdown. Mainly because, as Derek aptly put it, Stiles couldn’t mind his own business.

Which – he really can’t be blamed for because _come on,_ there are actual fucking monsters?? What the fuck?? How do I pretend my mind wasn’t just blown and my entire worldview hasn’t just changed?

Granted, not everyone would immediately take to stalking their only lead, or becoming an overnight expert on the occult – case in point: Isaac’s firm denial of That Night and _we were just seeing things, it was the sleep deprivation –_ but Stiles just happens to be a little obsessive-compulsive about this kind of stuff.

And anyway, there are worse ways to end up after finding out that _monsters, bump-in-the-night, horror movie-inspired, urban legend, hide your kids and get rid of your virginity pronto,_ are real.

Though that isn’t to say that Derek is very forthcoming with the information which is probably why, in the month since, Stiles has been thrown around by several poltergeists, threatened by a Kelpie, temporarily cursed by a Forest Sprite and more recently, almost ripped to pieces by an Aswang.

And to be clear, all those things Stiles takes full responsibility for.

He knows he’s a little shit, and that all his problems relating to injuries sustained in his uninvited and unwanted ridealongs with Derek are completely at the behest of his own stupidity in getting involved in the first place, but _magic?_

Totally an accident.

No, really.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is pre-witch Stiles, and it counts, so there.
> 
> This was also adapted from my original urban fantasy fic so that's why it sounds like the start of something "more" because it is - or was. I don't know. My brain hates me. I have no idea if I will continue this fic/the original uf but I figured this fic could annoy someone else besides me.


End file.
